


unabashed

by ohioinmymind



Series: unashamed [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Shameless!AU, rated for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 09:55:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohioinmymind/pseuds/ohioinmymind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Zayn constantly wants to punch Harry in the mouth almost as much as he want to kiss Liam. And Zayn pays a lot more attention to the things Liam likes than he's ever willing to admit out loud. </p><p>Or Shameless!AU where Zayn is Mickey, Liam is Ian, and Harry is Lip--and Zayn is reduced to doing dishes before he can get laid, but Liam may be worth it. Maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	unabashed

**Author's Note:**

> you should either be familiar with the shameless universe or read the drabble before this??? there's an explanation of characters in the notes over there, but i hope you enjoy it. i love shameless and ziam and gallavich so boom, here are my world's colliding.

Zayn pretends the metal of the Gallagher’s fence isn’t digging into his side—something always fucked up over here—and he inhales a little more of his cigarette before he throws it in the grass next to one of the little mixed kid’s shitty diapers. The ground is barren enough that he’s not worried about it starting some kind of fucking fire, and even if it does, he doesn’t give a shit, not really.

It’s not his house, why should he?

He starts to walk back around the gate to make his way up the steps—Liam obviously isn’t coming out here, he’s gonna have to go inside and sort through rugrats if he wants to get laid before Liam books it off to some weekend shenanigans with his shithead brother—the same one that Zayn’s sister, Veronica, is banging for room and board here. Or maybe it’s the other way around, a bed in exchange for sex, he doesn’t like to think about it. The thought of Harry touching Veronica makes him want to hit something.

Zayn runs back over to his still lit cigarette butt in the grass and stomps on it with his feet, running back up to the door before anyone can see what he did. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t. Zayn just likes the convenience of having Liam right up the road, it’d be a fucking shame to ruin that because Zayn burned his goddamn house down.

He knocks, but it’s so fucking loud inside—a million kids, Zayn swears Eleanor is like the lady in the shoe or some bullshit—so after a wave of irritation and no answer, he walks right in. It’s not like anyone will notice anyway, Zayn will get in, push Liam’s ass out of bed and slip back out. Only Zayn’s too busy stepping over little Liam’s toys and books and shit, that he doesn’t look up in time to miss Harry storming down the front staircase, phone in hand—one he probably jacked from one of those North side kids that bust their ass during his community service hours.

“Watch it, asshole,” Zayn says, mumbles really, because he doesn’t want to attract the attention of any of the other Gallagher relatives crawling around this place. But he can’t very well let someone almost knock him on his ass and not say anything. “You got eyes in the front of your head to watch where the hell you’re going. If you don’t plan on usin’ ‘em, I could always take ‘em out, sell ‘em on EBay or some shit.”

“You saying I got eyes pretty enough to make you some cash, Z?”

Zayn follows Harry on his way into the kitchen, and he hates that the bastard is too easy going to give Zayn shit for threatening him in his own house. Liam—the other one, little brown baby with crazy curly hair that Zayn doesn’t know how the fuck they’re related to—and Carl are entertaining themselves with a couple of headless dolls, he tries not to cringe because that kid is a psychopath and he’s pretty sure that Veronica told him that he can smell fear or something equally as weird.

Zayn pushes Harry in the back, his fingers wrapping around one of his dumb plaid shirts before deciding it’s a shitty idea to pick a fight for no fucking reason in a house where Zayn is outweighed relatives wise—and at this point, he wouldn’t put it past his sister to be a cunt and jump in for the Gallagher’s, even if Zayn is involved. He shoves him again, really hard and he hates that Harry cackles instead of cowers. “Don’t call me Z, assface. It’s not my name, so don’t use it.”

Eleanor is in the kitchen, hair tied up and Debbie at her side, both of them moving in sync around the kitchen, toaster waffles and eggs flying all over the goddamn place as they try and make a decent meal for breakfast. She glares at Zayn for a long time, probably for his language or the dirt he’s dragging in. She swats his ass and shoves him towards the table next to Harry, so he assumes it’s his language. And honestly, if it were any other broad, Zayn would have slapped her in the tit or something, but it’s Eleanor.

The annoying mothering thing is in her nature, God knows with their piece of shit parents she’s been playing house with these jokers for long enough.

“Why ya here, Z?” Harry holds his hand up in apology when Zayn reaches for the knife in his shoe. “Zayn, okay. Shit, have a waffle or summat, you’re uptight. Carl steal some more of your ammo, again? You here to collect?”

Zayn’s knife is confiscated the second it’s out of his sock and in the air. Damn El for being a quick little bitch. Zayn shrugs and rubs at his chin, moving around a bunch of dirty clothes in order to have room to scoot his chair up to the table. He doesn’t sulk too much, he knows Eleanor will give him his shit back on his way out the door. He does kick Harry before answering because he wants to, and he fucking can. “Not after I broke his fuckin’ wrist the last time, he hasn’t. And don’t be bringin’ that shit up, you make him remember what he’s done, he’ll get the idea to do it again.”

Harry shrugs and Zayn wonders if a morning lay is really worth resisting the inclination to bust someone’s lip—Harry’s, he’d really like to sucker punch him in the mouth for his stupid hair and stupid smirk alone.

“You didn’t break his wrist,” Eleanor reminds him, putting Zayn’s business out there like she knows something, fuck her, he thinks. She rubs his hair affectionately and smiles at him—that’s Liam’s smile. Zayn wonders how he knows that, wonders why he cares and why that row of teeth coupled with Liam’s family dimples stops him from elbowing Eleanor in the side on her way around the table. “He broke that fallin’ off the top of the van.”

“Shut up,” he says, because it sounds a lot better in his head than it does coming out of his mouth.

Zayn doesn’t blush, and he definitely doesn’t show any signs of weakness. And if he did, he wouldn’t do it here, of all places. Eleanor clears the table in record time, Zayn would applaud her if she hadn’t stolen his goddamn knife and patted him like a dog earlier. “You caved like a pussy and let him smoke some of your weed—which, not cool—I told you not to be doing that shit with him.”

She smacks him again, and Zayn is just about to reach his fucking limit, okay? Harry’s smile suggests that he wants to laugh, and Zayn fucking dares him—he won’t make it to lunch in he does, that’s a promise Zayn is willing to keep. “Fuck you, Eleanor. I’m out of this shithole.”

It’s uncomfortable, a feeling he can’t shake—feeling at home in a stranger’s house. Shit, the Gallagher’s aren’t strangers, but still. Where they fuck do they get off thinking they can be nice to Zayn and talk shit to him like he’s a part of their family? He ain’t, though. Zayn’s got a family, as fucked up as they are. He doesn’t need any of this shit. Liam can come find him after he finishes doing whatever the fuck he’s doing that permits him letting Harry and fucking Eleanor Gallagher to call him a pussy because he didn’t cut Carl’s goddamn fingers off.

Only he’s manhandled, like a child, which he is not. And Eleanor is pushing him back into a chair before he can snake his blade back from her pocket. “Sit down,” she insists, sliding a plate in front of him and slapping at Harry’s hands when he tries to stick his filthy fucking fingers into Zayn’s eggs. “I know with Veronica playing house wife to dear old Harry over here—”

“Fuck you, El.”

“That you probably haven’t eaten a good meal in days.” Eleanor gives Harry the finger and moves back in front of the stove, taking the spatula from Debbie and shushing her until she stops whining for more responsibility and sits down beside Zayn with her own plate that she grabs from the counter. “Sit the fuck down, and eat. I’m already feeding one Malik, I might as well make it two, but don’t pretend you don’t see the bill box on the table, pitch in a fiver and I’ll look the other way while you scarf down Liam’s share of the waffles.”

Zayn has to bite the inside of his cheek to fight the warmth that fights like a bitch to spread cross his chest, and somewhere in his stomach. He really does hate them, he swears. All of them. There’s not a single person in this house that doesn’t get on Zayn’s nerves, his whore sister included. “Don’t pretend that you know shit about me.”

Hate, it’s a rush of deep emotion that Zayn is comfortable with. They can’t take that away from him, The Gallagher’s and their thieving hands—stealing hearts and dignity, all of which are Zayn’s. He hates them but he still fishes a twenty out of his pocket and he still shovels the waffles into his mouth while they chatter on around him.

He gives Eleanor a spectacular display of his finger when he sees her smile at him out of the corner of his eye.

Carl escorts little Liam into a highchair, and the actual Liam is still nowhere to be seen, Zayn doesn’t give a fuck, mostly because these waffles are good considering they came out of a box. The look of thanks Eleanor gives him when he gives the baby a bottle full of some stinky ass milk doesn’t mean anything to him, he promises himself several times over. Veronica comes down by the time Zayn has washed his and Carl’s dishes—he gave Zayn his knife back without Eleanor’s knowledge. Only thing he asked in return is Zayn rinse his plate and let him play with his blade a little behind the grocery store this afternoon.

He’s gonna fucking learn how to stab someone either way, Zayn figures he’s a better teacher than Rowel who hangs out underneath the swings at the park. Zayn scratches his head with wet hands and tells himself he’s making an effort to keep his reputation in tact by tainting the future’s on the Southside’s children, he really doesn’t give a shit about Carl and if he gets kidnapped by some perv in the park or not.

Eleanor throws her plate in the sink, Debbie’s too, and pouts a little until Zayn tells her to fuck off with her stupid face and rubs her ugly mismatched plates. He needs to get the fuck out of here, like five minutes ago.

“I would call you pussy-whipped,” Harry says, trying to sneak his and Veronica’s dishes next to Eleanor’s, withdrawing his hand when Zayn tries to break it and clean at the same time—he’s good at multi-tasking, the little shit should know that—and for the second time Harry is lifting his hands in apology and giving Zayn a look that involves a smirk. One he’s really looked to get punched off after Zayn finishes these plates. “But I know—”

Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s pulling out the drawer nearest Harry hard enough to make the bastard sink to the ground. Zayn looks around to see if anyone heard Harry and his big fucking mouth. When he’s sure everyone’s only glanced this way because their brother sunk to the ground with girly ass whimpers, he makes good use of his foot by connecting it with Harry’s thigh. Then he leans down, whispers, “You know fuck all, you hear me?”

When Harry just looks at him, Zayn knows that Liam opened his big-ass mouth about them. He and Zayn. Whatever the fuck they were, which was nothing. They fucked, and that was it. Still, he cracked his knuckles and stared Harry down on his way back up, until that smug look was finally gown without Zayn having to throw any punches. “Yeah, Zayn. Alright. Nothing, I don’t know shit.”

“Damn right you don’t.”

Eleanor interrupts Zayn smashing his fist into Harry’s skull on principle alone, and the fact that his heart rate kind of slows down when he pats him on the back makes him that much more furious. This isn’t his family, he doesn’t fucking belong here. He has no clue when him coming around started to mean something to these people, but he thinks he should leave and never come back just to prove his point.

They, of all people, should know that when you love someone too much they leave your ass. Zayn’s never felt love, but he thinks this is what it’s like. This whole fucking house is full of it, and it’s not easy for Zayn to leave here and pick his skin for any lingering scent every time he walks out of the door.

“What’d I tell you about messing with Zayn, huh? You know he can kick your ass, so screw off.” Zayn wasn’t aware that he needed some sort of fucking cavalry to come to his rescue, but he doesn’t say anything, just lets Eleanor get off on playing mom by rubbing Zayn’s shoulder and squinting her eyes at Harry, pointing over towards the table. “Tell your girlfriend to put some clothes on, and then get down to the park and help Kev, you hear me? We’re not makin’ him run the truck by himself because you want to pick fights at breakfast.”

It doesn’t take Harry long to get his ass moving, hand out on his way to the stairs, motioning that Veronica follow him, and she does. Skank only waves to Zayn, their only interaction other than Zayn keeping his projectile vomit shoved down his throat after having to see his sister sans actual underwear.

Eleanor moves along, Debbie at her heels and Carl carrying Liam not far behind. He never takes his eyes off the stairs though, makes sure Harry knows he’s not playing around, he needs to watch what the fuck he says. He waits there until Veronica comes over and when she does, he only stay down long enough to talk shit to Zayn before he disappears. “Alright, well I’m gonna go bang your sister one more time before I have to book it to the park.”

Zayn throws a can of biscuits at his head because he fucking deserves it.

Harry laughs. Zayn doesn’t know what the hell is funny. “I’ll send Liam down on my way up.”

“The fuck do I want to babysit for?”

“I was talking about the other Liam, man.”

“So was I.”

Harry disappears and Zayn sinks back into the counter, his head spinning—fucking Gallagher’s.

/////

Liam doesn’t ever get to sleep in. It’s rare, there’s always something to do. But ROTC weekend training got lifted because their Sergeant was out of town, and none of the other officials wanted to fill in for him. So finally he got a day to sleep in, one day. And he planned to take full advantage of it.

He and Zayn usually met up before Liam went to train, but when he told him last night, he hadn’t said anything, so Liam figured they weren’t on for the morning, and that Liam would go find him at the park or near the mall sometime the next day. Except Zayn was unpredictable as fuck, and of course he came over while Liam was sleeping. He’s mad because no one thought to come shake him awake and tell them that Zayn Malik was in their kitchen—Liam had heard he washed dishes, he would have like to be there for that—but the sleep he’d gotten was really good, so he didn’t bitch too much.

He snagged one of Harry’s cigarettes on his way out, and that’s what he’s smoking on his walk to the Kash and Grab. It’s a shithole, but it’s a good job. He doesn’t have a shift today, but it’s pretty close to Zayn and Veronica’s house, so Liam should catch him walking around if he’s lucky. If not, he’s that much closer to the Malik residence, he could drop by under the premise of looking for V.

He knew she was at the Gallagher house, or at the park—somewhere with Harry. But Yaser doesn’t know that, so it should be a decent excuse to get Zayn to come to the door without his dad flipping shit and asking questions.

“Whoa! Whoa, shit! Zayn?”

Only he doesn’t make it too far from his house before he’s crashing into the ground, cigarette flying off somewhere while someone lands on top of him. It’s an accident, he thinks—hopes—because Zayn’s got his mask on and a bag of loot in his hands. Liam thinks it’s kind of cute the way Zayn thinks hiding his face will construe his identity. The guy has FUCK U-UP tattooed on his knuckles, for fuck’s sake. Everyone knows it’s him.

“The hell you doing, Gallagher? Got a death wish?” Zayn’s hands never leave his burlap bag, but he does pound Liam’s chest with closed fists a couple times to make some sort of point that will only make sense in his mind. It probably doesn’t help Liam’s case that he’s smiling. “The fuck is that for, huh? You grinning. Man, get off me, I’ve got shit to do. Places to be.”

“Zayn, you’re the one on top of me.”

Zayn looks down, and Liam knows that if he makes a sound of amusement the boy above him will bolt, so he keeps his mouth shut and documents this for later. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

He scoots back and takes off his mask, never fully standing up, just planting himself in the grass across from Liam. His cigarette is long gone by the time Liam sits up and roots around. They’re in between buildings, just a few streets over from the train platform and a strew of bakeries. Liam doesn’t even have to ask to know that Zayn robbed Kash again, he’s pulling out a pack of cigarettes and handing one to Liam before he rattles around and produces a smashed donut. Pink frosting, like Kash makes them. Like Liam likes them.

“Don’t be smilin’ at me, you’re lucky I stole you a stupid donut in the first place.”

Liam can’t help it, though. He has to smile because Zayn’s being nice to him, stealing him shit and being nice to his family, when Liam knows how hard it is for Zayn not to pummel Harry whenever he’s in close proximity. Zayn uses his knee to kick Liam in the fucking knee, and it does hurt, but not enough to wipe away the evidence of Zayn from his face. He can damn well smile if he wants, Zayn isn’t the boss of him.

“Alright, shithead, keep being a pansy and I’m not giving you the rest of the crap I snagged you. I shouldn’t have gotten you shit, makin’ me waiting with your whole fuckin’ family.” Liam’s still smiling in between bites and drags, and he thinks he can see scarlet dance across the bridge of Zayn’s nose, but that could be a sunburn or something. It’s a lot more likely that Zayn spent too much time asleep on the bus bench without sunscreen, Liam’s tricked himself into thinking Zayn was blushing before and he’s gotten a swollen eye for his troubles. He’s not taking any chances. “Next time you’re gonna skip out on a morning screw, tell me, yeah? So I’m not stuck wiping syrup off my face because Carl doesn’t have table manners.”

Liam draws his legs to his chest and licks the side of his mouth, biting at his lip when he sees how Zayn’s eyes drag along with his tongue. “Okay, I’m sorry. Show me what you got.”

Liam doesn’t tell Zayn that he’s full of shit—that he actually loves Liam’s family. Because he’s not ready for that. He has to get him to admit to loving Liam before he can go around telling Zayn he loves other people. He’s not ready to hear that Zayn might be Eleanor’s favorite, because he’s honest about the shit he does and today isn’t the first time he’s stuck around to help out. Harry might hate what Liam and Zayn have going on—preaching about Liam getting hurt—but Zayn is the first one he calls whenever he’s about to get his ass handed to him by some kid he mouthed off to. And Carl, well Carl—he wants to be Zayn—and as unhealthy as Harry and Veronica think that is, Liam and Eleanor don’t think it would be a bad thing.

They can see the good in Zayn, even if no one else can.

Zayn’s not ready to be loved, so Liam keeps smoking and smiling. It’s all he can do right now.

“Here.” It’s pretty child-like how Zayn holds out a wrapped granola bar, jutting his hand out and recoiling when Liam’s fingers fold over his when he takes it. Liam’s not offended, knows that Zayn will always be shell-shocked. He takes the bar and looks it over while Zayn fills the air with more words than necessary to fill the silence. “Kash was dickin’ around with Linda, made it a little too easy for me to fill my bag. I know how much of a hard-on you get for protein, I figured I could get a hummer out of it, if anything.”

“We don’t even sell these at the Kash and Grab, Z.”

Liam’s mouth is speaking, and his brain doesn’t have a chance to stop him. Zayn’s right, he really does love these things. But they’re kind of expensive and no one is willing to pay five bucks for a treat that’ll last a handful of minutes. He’d eaten a few when he came back from his ROTC retreat, he was sneaking into Zayn’s room to stay out of his house for the reminder of the holiday break. Fuck, Liam—he can’t really believe it, that Zayn remembered.

Zayn looks caught, and Liam really wants to kiss him, might even risk it if Zayn keeps biting his lip like that. “What?” He’s playing dumb, and that makes Liam bite back an even bigger smile. “Yeah, you do. That’s where the fuck I got it from, so shut up.”

Liam crawls over to him quick, he has to be fast so Zayn can’t pull away or call him a queer, even though Liam can see in his eyes that he wants to fool around just as fucking much. When he’s close enough to Zayn, he’s pushed back, but Liam stays in place, breathes on Zayn’s face and keeps their lips apart by simple inches. “Did you get this just for me?”

“So what if I did,” Zayn’s whispering, shoving Liam to the side and rolling out of sight near the dumpsters, beckoning Liam with a finger until they’re both hidden behind dirt and trash and filth, and it’s almost as concealing as the irritation in Zayn’s eyes that keep something else at bay. “You gonna eat the fucking thing or not?”

Liam can’t kiss him, Zayn’s not in a good enough mood for that, so he sucks a bruise into his neck instead. Liam knows he doesn’t give a shit, will just tell stories of some wild bitch leeching onto him, when they’ll both know that Liam was here. Zayn will be walking around with Liam’s marks on him—his neck and his thighs and the imprints of teeth Liam might leave on his ass if Zayn can be fucking quiet for once, always mouthy, he is—and there’s nothing anyone can say about it.

“Yeah, later.”

“The fuck, eat it now.”

“Nah, I’ve got a better idea.”

“For what?”

“My mouth.”

**Author's Note:**

> tell me what you think? comments are my bread an butter, ok. i'm selfish.


End file.
